To Be Loved by the Supernatural
by sweet-and-simple
Summary: "You would think people had never seen a lycanthrope before."  'There, before a tall, wide arching entranceway barred shut for the night, was his excitable and yet somehow deadly wolf…' AU RL 8059
1. To Be Loved by a Vampire

"You would think people had never seen a lycanthrope before," Lambo murmured, finally, after a 10-minute rant of how pedestrians had gone into a mad frenzy at seeing Yamamoto in the downtown subway. "He was trying to save their lives… did I tell you that one of the civilians was so desperate to get away from Yamamoto, he actually _threw_ himself in front of an incoming train?" The buttons on his evening shirt undone, he shrugged out of the silky green fabric and let it cascade messily to the black tiled floor. "Of course, I managed to save him in time from his suicide, but you should have _seen_ how heartbroken Yamamoto was when he shifted back."

His mate stood up from their bed, the four-poster set decorated in white sheets and a black quilt, a sunny yellow canopy swooping overhead. With unheard footsteps, he swooped in behind Lambo, trailing his fingers across the tattoo stretching from the younger male's left shoulder blade down to his right hipbone. It depicted, in thick black ink, a bull with long gracing horns that touched Lambo's lower back, its thin and twining tail reaching over his shoulder so that the fine hairs of its switch circled his nipple. Its legs were cast in a motion that suggested tromping, head turned so that it was gouging, and back curved.

He couldn't remember the night he had gotten it… which was really the reason why he had sworn off alcohol.

He closed his eyes and let his mate's touch electrify his flesh, a pleasurable sizzle that ran to his scalp all the way down to his tippy toes…

"You haven't been listening at all to what I've been saying, have you?" He muttered almost crossly, 'almost' being the key word because his lover's skilled fingers had followed the bull's tail and was now fondling his painted nipple.

"I was listening. I just haven't been caring." Pale lips caressed the junction of his shoulder and neck, beige skin disappearing into his lover's sinful leer.

He shivered, despite himself. "B-but, _goodness_… you would have cared had you seen Yamamoto's expression… it was like someone ran over his puppy. Or worse, ran over Gokudera." Though, really, he thought, that would be entirely ineffective. As a matter of fact, that would only serve to piss off Gokudera. Hybrids usually had a terrible attitude to begin with because of confusion with their heritage, adding a hit-and-run to their list of misgivings just never went over well.

"Gokudera can help him get over it," his mate deadpanned against the curve of his throat, his pianist hands settling on Lambo's hips and then sliding their way around to tease his black leather pants off his torso, one tick of the zipper at a time. "You, on the other hand… _you_ are going to suffer."

He was horribly distracted by the palm rubbing against his groin. "S-suffer?" He tried to rack his brain for anything he might have done lately to warrant a punishment of any sort. All he came up with was that, he hadn't done anything wrong.

His lover was just being an asshole. Like he usually was.

"I take the time to leave my post a three hours early so that we could have that date you've been pestering me about and you're off in the subway, fighting rogues. I'm not pleased, not pleased at _all_."

_Oh_, well, now that he brought it up… Lambo could vaguely remember such a date. That he _had_ missed… Kind to think about it, his mate _was_ actually back earlier than usual.

"Oops?"

"Beg for forgiveness."

He hissed as digits slipped into the hem of his pants and drummed along the hardening length of his desire. "I beg, I beg!" And he did too. He would rather lose his pride now than later. "P-please, do whatever you w-want with me but p-punish me…" Because, out of all the things that had nearly killed him in his lifetime, a punishment handed out by his lover might actually get the job done.

And, did he mention that his lover was very skilled with his hands?

With a pained sigh, he let himself fall limply into his mate, a shiver running along his skin as amazing things happened in his tight pants. His lover's mouth was kissing its way to the corner of his lips, nudging so that Lambo turned his head and accepted a brain-melting embrace of tongues. His senses were flooded, all too familiarly with the taste of copper, clover, and coffee (all c's, he realized with amusement), the scent of cool nights, a fresh shower, and something ultimately all his lover's.

Though he hate to say it, he was falling in love all over again. And, honestly, he _did_ hate to say it.

He mewled into the kiss as his inner thighs trembled, knees threatening to give out as the oh-so wonderful things happening in the leather warned of great things soon to _cum_. So soon, too soon, why so soon? _Oh_, right… too long, far too long.

And he remembered Yamamoto.

"But, you know, he really _was_ hurt by people screaming at him," he steadfastly continued the moment he could take his mouth back, albeit his tone was breathy and maybe with a slight shiver behind his words. "I'm really, _really_ sorry for missing our date, but I can't say that I'm sorry that I went with him! Imagine if he had gone there alone…"

His lover stared at him with apathetic obsidian eyes, eyes that told Lambo that, honestly? He did _not_ care.

In the next moment, he was lying in the bed, body wracked of all oxygen as he wheezed. He stared up into the face of his lover, all alabaster skin, all raven-black hair and eyes. Pale and dark at the same time, like a childhood's boogeyman. _Beautiful_. And yet very, very deadly.

In the pit of his eyes, Lambo could make out unmistakable _hunger_. His body turned to mush, caught in such a glower. And, with a shaky sigh, he gave into it.

Hadn't something gone wrong with Yamamoto? Oh, goodness, he couldn't even try to _try_ to remember.

His lover's face came closer, his smoky breath soaking Lambo's mind. With calculated precision, he managed to narrowly avoid the younger's kiss and instead trail the tip of his nose down along the rise of his cheek to the lobe of his ear and then to the soft pulse beneath his jaw. His tongue flickered and tasted and, for a perverse moment, Lambo wondered how he tasted.

It only lasted a moment because that led to the question of how his _lover_ tasted. The thick and heavy taste never ceased to surprise him.

Raven eyes met his electric green ones for a moment before Lambo's slid shut with drowsy pleasure. Raven eyes stared open – focused, as his mouth parted over the younger's jugular.

Lambo released a light groan as fangs sank into flesh, a heady sensation as endorphins and serotonin raced through his system at a dizzying speed. His hands came up and lazily braided into his lover's thick hair, legs restlessly rubbing against the older's sides, the older being situated between his thighs. His lover suckled at his vein, small, vacuuming motions of the mouth and throat that stole Lambo's life and swallowed it, scarlet blood beading at the corner of his lover's lips.

Seconds passed and then his lover pulled away, tongue swiping over his reddened throat to catch the last escaping droplets. Inquisitively, he leaned back, staring down at him. His tongue darted over his swollen lips, black eyes narrowed in thought.

"Did Yamamoto give you blood?"

He had to fight to remember. And then, finally, he recalled the nearly-getting-hit-by-a-train-to-save-an-idiot incident; where, in actuality, exertion had driven him to accept a direct transfusion from his dubbed older brother. He nodded.

"I can taste the wolf in your essence. Strong… but sour."

He could agree with that; he hadn't particularly enjoyed it either, but beggars, he supposed, couldn't be choosers. After all, he had completely forgotten about his supposed date.

And all this thinking was reminding him of a heartbroken Yamamoto. "Do you really think Gokudera will – " mentally, he cursed his lover out in three different languages. He _did_ know three different languages – English, Italian, and Japanese. And every curse he knew in those three languages were directed at his mate.

He dared to have the _gall_ to stop him midsentence with a hand slapped over his mouth, just in time for Lambo to bite the tip of his tongue.

His lover leaned forward, hand moving away so that his tongue could tease his unwilling lips open and dive towards the wounded pink muscle. "Just feed," he demanded.

In the sexiest move that could ever be accomplished, his lover shouldered his way out of his yellow evening shirt, slowly. The ripple of pale muscles shone beneath the hem of the button-down, the shiver of hipbones that stuck out above the waist of his slacks. His abs came to pectorals that were born from hard, earnest exercise, giving at a sharp collarbone that broke into powerful shoulders sloping into sinewy arms –

Goodness, he completely did not realize that his lover was watching him with wickedly amused eyes, that the shirt had already been cast off the bed to land exactly on top of Lambo's earlier discarded button-up.

His hands braced on his lover's shoulders, he brought him closer to his mouth. Behind his innate incisors, he felt the twinge as his fangs slid from the grooves in the roof of his orifice, as beads of poison clung to their tips – nothing lethal, only something to bring about a natural euphoria that made victims very happy.

Joyfully, his lips pulled over his lover's heart, fangs breaking pale skin. He whimpered as his mind was blown _away_. Again with that unmistakable taste, something so thick, it rested heavily on his tongue; and yet there was something to it, something dark and caffeinated that drove his very nerves into insanity… _Oh, goodness_, it tasted heavenly, as if he had found the wine only gods could drink and yet he was drinking it too, so _smooth_ right down his throat…

With a gasp, he pulled away, tongue reflexively dancing over the puncture wound so it would seal faster, though such an action with his lover wasn't that necessary.

His lover flipped them over, Lambo now riding atop. His black, black, hungry eyes were trekking one _slow_ inch at a time up the younger's frame, fingertips tickling up his back to tease the outline of his tattoo.

He braced his hands on his lover's chest, arching into the barely-there touch. His lover was looking up at him, taunting, wordlessly saying '_make me forgive you_', and his devil's leer _burned_.

Hours later, he reached the brink of his third and (hopefully) final climax, on his hands and knees while his bastardly lover berated his prostate with his cock and whispered possessive, dirty things into his ear.

"Gnnn… R-Re-REBORNNN!" And, just like that, he died. He honestly, _swear to GOD_, died. No one could live through that much torture, that much _sweet_ and _unmerciful_ torture… Hours of it until their body couldn't even _begin_ to function right _ever_ again.

His lover followed some minutes later and Lambo wondered just how enjoyable it was to fuck a comatose body. Because, judging by the load bathing his inner walls, his lover had enjoyed it _a lot_.

He gasped and gagged as he tried to catch up with his own heart, a reckless force in his chest. He keened as his lover separated their bodies, both glad for the departure and hating how empty it made him feel, as if he was only half a person now.

Pitifully, he crawled up the soiled sheets till his heavy head touched one of the untainted pillows, arms weakly holding onto it. The shift of weight behind him said he was soon to be followed and he was, his lover's inhumanly cool body, thinly wrapped in a sheen of sweat, settling right. On. Top. Of him.

"G-ge'off…" His lover smirked against the curve of his throat.

"And if I don't want to?"

"Ge'off anyway." Soft kisses against the nape of his neck made his eyes flutter shut, exhausted and on the verge of sleep… well, except for the fact that his lover – his boogeyman, his devilish bastard, _his_ Reborn – WAS SQUEEZING THE FUCKING LIFE OUT OF HIM! "G-Goodness…"

He pondered, for a second, which one of them was actually the youngest. In heart, anyway. Lambo's 25 was nothing compared to his 140.

"You'll live."

"Bashtard…" It was hard to talk with his face pressed into the pillow.

Reborn, for his part, made a considerate move and shifted just slightly, just enough so that Lambo could finally drag air back into his lungs. "The things I do for you."

Lambo wanted to glare at him, but he was already fading out – now that he didn't have to worry about suffocating to death.

And then a heartbroken, puppy dog expression haunted him. "Rrussshrr'boutYmmto?"

"_What_?"

"Yama… Yamamoto… really wazh hurt." His heavy eyes refused to open. "'Better go check 'n him…"

Elongated fangs nipped his shoulder when he began to shift towards the edge of the bed. "He's Gokudera's responsibility. Stop worrying about it."

"Nuuuu…" But he was already snuggling down. Even if it was something worth worrying about, he _supposed_ it could wait till… wait till…

Yeah, it would just have to wait till whatever time he woke up.

Lips feathered over his temple, lulling him, finally, into a dream's embrace.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I know I didn't really get into the vampire's physiology and some of you might be wondering to yourselves, 'well, why didn't she just make it canon?'. The reason? I failed to get across all of the vampirism I was aiming for…<p>

Reborn and Lambo are mates! YAY! And Reborn _was_ somewhat OOC in this… I would like to think that it goes with the AU, however. After all, in this version, both have more experience. As for age, what I did was multiply their ages in the canon by five, so that's five years added onto every one year in KHR; which makes Lambo at 5 to be 25 and Reborn's age to be around 140 because I supposed him to be around 20 when he went in for the curse and another 28 or so years by the time Aria came into the picture during the anime (supposing that Aria was in her late 20's if the wiki was to be trusted). So in this alternate universe, just multiply the age of those in the canon by five to get how old they would be in this AU.


	2. To Be Loved by a Werewolf

"Gokudera~"

That voice… he knew it painfully well. And though he respected the man of whom the voice belonged to…

He hated that tone.

"Your dog is looking for you." In the doorway behind him, the tall and suave figure of a man loomed. His alabaster skin was a sharp contrast with his hair and eyes like a raven's wing. He wore a black suit, an expensive designer no doubt, without the slightest spark of color coming from him.

He was a blank canvas that couldn't be marked by paint; a black stain on the wall that couldn't be hidden.

He was Reborn.

And Gokudera shivered to be in his presence. "He doesn't need a watcher anymore," he replied as respectfully as he could. "The full moon isn't till tomorrow anyway."

"I'm not saying he needs a _watcher_, I'm just saying that he's had a rough night and he's looking for _you_." Reborn went on to purr. He took long, measured strides into the library; there wasn't even the slightest whisper of footsteps as he stalked closer. "Can't you hear him?" There was a mocking smirk on his lips.

"No… No, I can not. And even if he _is_, he can look for someone else."

"I don't know, Gokudera…" Reborn tutted. "I can hear him from here and he sounds lonely."

He was half-tempted to point out that the possibility of his 'dog' getting lonely with over 42 residents in the building was just ridiculous, but he held his tongue… because he knew Reborn. And, chances were, Reborn _was_ right.

He kept his eyes glued to the ancient, stony text before him. He held in his hands the original laws of Hammurabi, the long ago king of Babylon in 1700 B.C. Surely that was more interesting than what was happening with _that_ bastard. There were over 200 rules to learn, most of them for the benefit of _all_ the people instead of just the wealthy…

Reborn remained at his side, staring down at him with laughing black eyes.

Gokudera found himself reading the same symbols for the seventh time. _Damn it_. "Fine," he growled low in his throat as he gingerly (no matter how angry he was, he would _never_ take it out on such an important work) set the tablets aside and then got reluctantly to his feet, "I'll… check on him."

Reborn was apparently appeased with that because he didn't say another word as Gokudera slipped past him and down the halls towards the staircase.

It was only after Gokudera left earshot that Reborn smirked. Over his bottom lip, identical fangs perked from where they had been hiding behind his canines; hollow canals that could without warning inject his prey with a good dose of serotonin, making them happily willing for his touch…

Right before sucking them dry.

"This should please him," he purred to himself, right before turning on his heel and make his way back to his passed out mate.

**() () ()**

Sure enough… he was sitting in front of the back door, looking completely and unbearably lost.

Gokudera snarled a few colorful curses beneath his breath as he rounded the last corner separating him from the imbecile Reborn had sent him after.

There, before a tall, wide arching entranceway barred shut for the night, was his excitable and yet somehow _deadly_ wolf… His once-upon-a-time charge back in the day where the same deadly wolf had been wilder than in control and he had somehow had a calming affect on him.

Except he wasn't a wolf… well, at least not at the moment.

There, at the door, was a man, at approximately around 6 foot 7, with sienna skin, jet black hair, and copper eyes. Actually, they had a familiar red tint to them at the moment, suggesting that maybe he _was_ leaning a little too close to the dark side…

Gokudera scowled and then made his presence known with an annoyed hiss. He wasn't going to get within arm's reach, the damn _dog_ wasn't going to trick Gokudera into coming any closer.

The painfully silent man jerked his head up to pin Gokudera with a dominant glare. Realization lit instantly in his eyes, replacing his cold gaze with one of pure and utter _puppy-like_ joy.

"Hayato." The man tackled him to the floor, Gokudera's figure (despite being of decent height with broad shoulders himself) easily overcome by the other's exuberance. "Hayato…" The man's voice melted into a soft whisper towards the last syllable, nose and mouth running up his jaw and then down to rest his head against his shoulder.

He knew he was supposed to be angry at being tackled, but he really couldn't remember _why_ that was. For that matter, he was kind of having trouble remembering _who_ he was…

The man's heat was melting him; he was always so damn _hot_, just waves of steam roiling off of him at a time… and Gokudera always felt cold to the touch until that blast of warmth caressed him, so wasn't it acceptable that he was shivering?

And, well, he _was_ nipping his throat, definitely a sensitive spot for someone like Gokudera… He was waiting breathlessly to be bitten – and then he remembered that that would be pretty bad for him if the other man actually clamped his jaw down on his neck.

What sucked was that the man didn't even seem to realize that he was doing it, as if he was somewhere completely outside of lust and was somewhere closer to comforting himself.

Yamamoto pulled back after a small jerk, blinking down at Gokudera with dawning remembrance. "Hayato…" He whispered huskily. "I nearly got someone killed today."

Hayato had to swallow thickly before he could reply. "W-what?" _This_ was why he hadn't wanted to get close. He couldn't really drag his thoughts back to him.

"I was in the subway with Lambo tracking a rogue and I had to shift. Everyone had already been panicky after seeing the first wolf and when they saw me… they lost it. And one of the civilians… he threw himself onto the rails trying to get away from me. I could see it in his eyes, Hayato, he was _terrified_. I could smell it and I could feel it." He looked so damn forlorn…

Gokudera stared up at him, spring green eyes masked in sympathy. He could understand that pain, the pain Yamamoto was experiencing. Because he was a hybrid, there were those in both worlds – human and supernatural – that saw only the worst in him. The humans only saw the half of him that was vampire and the supernatural only saw a dirty human.

Whenever humans saw Yamamoto's wolf form, all they saw was a horrifying beast. Something that either had to be studied in a cage or shot down without even being trialed.

"If I were different," Yamamoto went on somberly, "would they still be scared?"

He gawked, appalled. "If you were different," he snapped, "I wouldn't want you here. You're – " was he really about to say this? " – great the way you are and those fucking humans can either suck it up or wail about it!"

Yamamoto looked sincerely touched. Gokudera's cheeks were flushed red. "Thank you, Hayato… I think that's the kindest thing you've ever said to me… well, except for that time you told me you loved me!"

He sputtered. "I-I was drunk that time…"

"So was Lambo," he sniggered. He was one of the few that could remember that night detail for detail. Sadly, in the midst of everything, the one thing he could not recall was how Lambo, in his drunken haze, had slipped away long enough to get that bull tattoo. "And Ryohei," which had been a scary sight, "Haru, Hana, and Tsuna," that had been damn adorable to see their small brunette boss languishing all along the bar, eyes hazy and cheeks flushed as he ranted about ghouls at the dock and rebels in their community as if they were the same thing (which they _weren't_). "But I think alcohol makes you a little truthful~"

"Are you saying I'm a _liar_ when I'm _not_ drunk?"

"No! Well… you hold in more things when you're sober, Hayato."

"Runt!" He punched the overhead male in the shoulder. Hard.

The werewolf flinched but then just smiled the pain away. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the silverette's lips, one hand stroking back his pale tresses. "Thank you, Hayato… somehow, you always make me feel better, no matter how terrible I feel." He kissed him again, a little deeper. "Mah mah, Hayato~ was that lust I smelled earlier."

He would have vehemently denied it, maybe abused the other till _he_ believed _himself_, and then throw in a few (very many) curses for the hell of it – he paused. And then he sighed, because what would be the point of it? It would so obviously be a lie and Yamamoto could disprove it in seconds.

"You'll have to get me drunk before I admit to _that_," he finished lamely.

"I think I have a better idea!" And didn't the damn dog looked so _pleased_ with himself.

Three flights of stairs and two strips later, they somehow made to Yamamoto's room, not quite at the bed but against the door while the werewolf proved just how _good_ his idea was. With a low growl from the lycanthrope and a high-pitched keen from the silverette, they came together in complete unity, the dhampir's nails biting into sienna-skinned shoulders, pronounced incisors clamping on a tanned throat. He didn't have fangs like a vampire, but it was close enough to draw blood into his mouth, good enough that Yamamoto groaned in guttural pleasure.

And then both went tense, a very familiar scent in their nostrils… very close.

Gokudera peeked his eyes open and Yamamoto looked over his shoulder to the best of his ability, what with a mouth on his neck and all.

Behind them, Tsuna looked both annoyed and amused, kind eyes sparkling even as he sighed noisily and crossed his arms over his chest. "You two just couldn't bother to wait till you got _inside_ the room, could you?"

The werewolf, for his part, grinned innocently. Gokudera swallowed – hard – and separated himself from Yamamoto's jugular long enough to try and sputter _some sort_ of apology that ended in a long, shamed whine.

Tsuna, for his part, only shook his head, as if this was something he had seen hundreds of other times (which it might have been considering the animalistic nature and therefore _immodesty_ of his guardians) and was beyond being embarrassed about it. "Good night, both of you. Please remember from now on that you two might not be so lucky as to have _me_ intrude on your… well on your time _together_." He chuckled, one last time, and then continued down the hall as if what he had just seen was already the last thing on his mind.

"'Night, Tsuna!" Yamamoto called after him before humming amusedly beneath his breath. "But he's right, you know, maybe we should have tried for the _other_ side of the door instead of in the hallway _outside_ of my room…" He gulped as he looked into Gokudera's hellfire green eyes, glaring at him as if he was at personal fault. Which he most likely was. "Heeey… you're not angry… are you?"

His answer came in the form of a bitch slap that dislodged him from the silverette and threw him through two floors.

From where he laid in pained stillness, waterlines spewing liquid down on him and some electrical wires flickering threateningly from the large hole his body had created in its careen through wood, he could hear Gokudera slam his door open and shut in obvious boiling rage.

And he grinned, like the idiot his lover claimed him to be, because he felt _very_ much loved.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: A second chapter to my RL vamp story! This was actually written first, but incomplete. I couldn't figure out how to end it… so I put it on the burner for a bit (a long time, actually), and then when I was writing my RL vamp story, this story popped back into my mind. Using my other story as a crutch, I was able to complete this! YAY!<p> 


	3. A Night in the Vampire's Bed

_Gasp… gasp… gasp… whimper… gasp… gasp… gasp… whine… gasp… gasp… gasp…_

**Bite**.

A rumbled chuckle vibrated throughout his entire body as his fangs sunk into his mate's jugular, steady strokes embedding his lover's cock deep within his canal.

The blood dribbled down his throat, thick. Heady like coffee and perhaps cigars. _Powerful_. He shivered and let the power course throughout his body, his slim frame arching into the gradually harder pace, the more forceful thrusts beating against his prostate and stretching him beyond belief.

He drank his fill, choking on the scarlet life in nearly the same way his body was clamping down on his lover's desire.

When he pulled away, shakily swiping his tongue over the small wound so that the healing reagents in his saliva would repair it sooner (though such was unnecessary considering who he was with, but nonetheless a force of habit), a fanged mouth whispered into his ear, pale lips turned into a thin smirk as they murmured _feed __**me**__ now_.

He cried out as his lover's mouth circled his throat and struck. His electric green eyes widened as pain and then pleasure assaulted him in waves. The venom was flowing through his veins, the same as his blood that was eagerly flowing out, a liquid aphrodisiac that assured him that he could completely and utterly give himself up to his lover and not have to worry for his life. That all he had to do was feel _good_. More than good, he was _ready_. _Ready_ to _explode_.

He was so _hot_ and _heavy_ that he couldn't take it! He needed to orgasm, needed to fall off of that celestial cliff that would have him float upwards into nirvana…

He _begged_ in wheezed growls around the mouth clamping down on his neck, nails clawing at an alabaster back as his hips rose more violently in tune with the other's lower torso.

A hand larger than his, paler than his, _older_ than his, trailed languidly over his shoulder, across its bony plate at his back, and traveled along his spine, pianist fingers tracing by memory the tattoo embedded into his skin. His nails scraped lightly, following the winding tail to his nipple and pinching it with little mercy.

He begged a little more as the mouth at his throat released, his mate's lips coming away red with life.

He received a snarky little grin, one that begged the answer to the question, _what have you done to deserve it?_

He rolled his hips a little harder, moaned a little louder. He squirmed a little more and ran his nails down his lover's back a little deeper.

He would do _anything_; he had done everything! He wanted it… he wanted it so damn _bad_!

And his lover, such a mocking tease, ignored his every sound and move, apparently holding out for something greater.

So, finally, he let loose a scream. "PLEASE! Please, Reborn, please! I love you," he sobbed, his entire body shaking, his innards twisted in painful knots that were only getting tighter by the second. "I love you so damn bad, _goodness_, I'll give you my everything! A-anything! E-everything! You stingy _bastard_, you whoremonger, just let me fucking _cum _–" His made tirade was caught off by smirking lips, tasting of rich blood.

His mate circled one hand around his cock and squeezed pleasantly, hips rocking wildly against the curve of Lambo's ass. "Sweet words like that," he purred, separating their mouths for a second, "how can I say no?"

He was shoved into the bed, chest-to-chest with his lover. Their movements became rougher, Lambo's legs curling around Reborn's waist, ankles locking behind his bed. His hands went to Reborn's lower back, clawing in for a grip and trying to force the pace. He wanted _more_, he wanted it like they were fuck buddies and all that mattered was that they wouldn't be able to ever walk away. He didn't even want to _limp_ in the morning; he wanted to be completely dependent on the bed for years to come, unable to ever move again.

Oh, how he wanted that…

Reborn gave him what he wanted, the bed jerking and wailing beneath them as they all but attacked each other with their bodies. A harsh kiss split Lambo's bottom lip before Reborn's lips relocated to his ear, tongue tracing his lobe.

"You love it when I do this to you," he growled lewdly. "You love it when I fuck you into the bed, no one else could ever make you so desperate like I do." He nipped sharply at the erratic pulse beneath his jaw. "You want me so bad, you're dying, aren't you?"

He whimpered, whether because of his words or his newly discovered prostate, he wasn't sure. Most likely both. He nodded frantically nonetheless, arms twining around his mate's shoulders and holding on for dear life, as if letting go could actually kill him. So close, so painfully close… It _hurt_, it hurt to have heaven just beyond the ledge and yet not able to jump.

"When I'm done with you," his mate sniggered, lips centimeters from Lambo's, his damp, hot breath flowing into the younger's lungs and because his own air, his own oxygen, "you won't be walking away."

He was counting on it.

Moments, precious moments, went on in terrible euphoria. So fast, so hard, so _good_… Goodness, he was losing his mind – maybe he had already lost it? Either way, his thoughts were as frenzied as their furiously meeting bodies, an endless circle of demands and pleas that all went along the lines of him _climaxing_.

And then, like the break of the storm, the tension in his abdomen snapped. He shattered beautifully, wonderfully, altogether and never-ending as his body convulsed over and over again. His inner walls milked his lover dry, dragging him over the edge of aphrodisiacal harmony that seemed more like floating upwards into _hell_ at the moment. It was too hot, it hurt too good…

He arched completely off the bed, right into Reborn's body. From hips to shoulder, they were completely merged. His mate's strong arm came around his waist, holding him there tightly. Within his body, his lover's semen berated his prostate. Between them was bathed white with Lambo's own essence.

For a long moment, they remained like that, completely frozen in ecstasy. Slowly, lazily, they came down from their heights. With a sigh-like groan, Lambo melted into the bed. He whimpered as Reborn separated their bodies, a slick sound reaching his ears as the heat inside his body departed with his mate's member. He lied limply on the bed, caught in the aftermath, and stared up at his smug Reborn with something torn between suffering and bliss.

"You…" He licked his lips, his bottom lip luckily healed over, and swallowed thickly. "You're an _asshole_… G-goodness… you almost killed me…" Just to be sure his lover hadn't successfully killed him, he pressed a hand over his heart; luckily, it was still beating in its two-thump, vampiric way.

"You were begging for it," Reborn pointed out contently. And then, smirking, he rolled out of bed and made his way to their bathroom, still naked. At the door, he looked back at Lambo, a wicked expression on his face. "Do you plan on going to sleep like that?"

He looked tiredly down at himself. There was a thin sheen of sweat over his entire body, slightly sour to his nose, and his hair, he could feel, was plastered to his skull. Semen was staining his abdomen, his length a slick mess between his trembling thighs. Forcing himself into a sitting position, he could see his mate's essence sliding down from his entrance to dirty the covers even more than they originally had been.

He was filthy in the aftermath of making love.

"Are you offering me something?" He looked back at Reborn with equally wicked electric green eyes.

His mate didn't answer, instead slipping into the adjoined room. Lambo, after a moment of egging his exhausted body on, followed.

In the spacious, waterfall-like shower cubicle, he was made to scream again.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I couldn't resist…<p> 


End file.
